1
When the knock sounds, his vigilante boyfriends
put on a whole different type of mask.
And, you know, not one over their eyes.
“It’s really okay if you don’t want to do this,”
he placates easily, meaning it while he sets the table. “You two don’t have
to. It’s okay, really. I mean…” he raises both hands to mimic a mask
around his eyes. Secret idents and such.
Dick just gives him that killer smile, wide and
white. Jason answers that shit by turning from the stove long
enough to sweep him up for one last kiss right on the mouth.
“Coming!” Dick sing-songs at the knock, making
his way to their door in comfortable old jeans and a ratty-looking t-shirt, and
Jay turns back to the stove with a fond look.
His grin is huge and charming when he opens up
for the confident Steph and tentative Layla on the other side.
“Hello! You must be Stephanie and Layla, I’ve
heard so much about you…”
With care and a natural big brother aura, Dick
ushers them inside, taking their coats, introducing himself. He laughs when
Layla launches herself at Tim, climbing him like a tree and crooning at her
favorite Uncle.
“Uncle Tim! Uncle Tim! We’re finally going to
dissect frogs, I’m so excited I can hardly wait!”
“Mmhm,” unconcerned, he grips one of her calves
while continuing to set the table, “don’t be too hard on it after you get him
open, frogs have terrible diets, you know.”
“I know!”
Steph takes a minute to shake Dick’s hand and
give him a well-meaning, “nice to meet you. Hurt my best friend, and I’ll get
out the best set of sharp scalpels I own. You don’t want to mess with someone
that makes a living puzzling out the weakest spots in the human body.”
Once the table is flawless, Tim and Layla face
Jason, smelling the incredible dinner he’s pulling out with My Favorite
Zombie oven mitts.
“Names Jay, Small Fry, nice ta meet ‘cha.”
The young girl gasps, holding on to Tim’s head
with her legs dangling carelessly over his shoulders.
Jay gives her his trademark shit-eating-grin and
puts one finger over his lips with a wink.
The smart kid immediately gets it (she’s
grown up in Gotham, so she definitely knows). She grins back widely to
show the missing tooth in her smile.
“Hi Jay!” She returns loudly, sticking out a
hand, “I’m Layla. It’s nice to meet you, too.”
When Jay shakes her hand, she pointedly glances
down at his knuckles and back up to his face. They might share a conspiratorial
nod and Tim laughs softly as the monkey shimmies down his back and immediately
squirrels her way up Jason’s to perch on his broad shoulders instead.
Steph blinks in amazement at her daughter
sitting comfortably, munching on the bits Jay feeds her while Dick leads her to
the table and regales her with stories of his circus days and Tim moves between
helping Jason with hot rolls and coming back to the table for Dick to throw a
casual arm around his waist and open his mouth for bits of dinner. Layla moves
on to what she’s doing in English class, telling Jay about Bridge to
Terabithia and gives him every ounce of attention when he starts quoting
his favorite lines.
Tim refills Steph’s coffee and puts the bowl of
corn on the table (and no, he doesn’t get red in the face when Dick
gropes him discreetly without even a pause).
At some point, Layla is watching astounded as
Dick walks easily on his hands and swings from the light fixtures (that were
strangely reinforced some time ago, wonder when that happened, sheesh).
The acrobat has Layla balanced on one foot, promising Steph he’s a
professional, so it’s absolutely fine for him to do this at home.
Jay charms her with his old Gotham accent and the
softness in his eyes when he leans over to press a gentle kiss on Tim’s
forehead, handing over the baked ham to go on the table.
Half-way through dinner, the question inevitably
comes out.
“So,” Layla looks from Dick to Jay, biting on
her lower lip, “which one of you is dating Uncle Tim?”
Hiding her grin with a napkin, Steph (since she really
wants to hear this answer) sits back to watch the two oldest exchange a
panicked glance, wondering what the hell they’re going to tell Timmy’s
niece.
“They both are,” Tim tells her easily, “I’m too
much of a handful for just one of them, so they both look after me.”
This apparently makes perfect sense to the kid,
who puts down her cup and gives him a grave look that is completely ruined by
the milk mustache, “that’s so true, Uncle Tim, you are a handful.” She
sighs over at Dick and Jay, like she absolutely sympathizes, “really,
you two. Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
Dick’s eyes get huge and he bites down on
his lower lip so he doesn’t bust out. Jay, however, gives no shits and
unabashedly laughs out loud at Tim’s affronted expression. Steph doesn’t spit
out her coffee, but it’s a close thing. She does choke for a minute or
two between gurgled giggles.
“You just eat your carrots, young lady.
Jay worked really hard to make sure they taste good.”
“Aw, Uncle Tim!”
“Nope. Eat your vegetables.”
He goes back to his own plate, cheeks pleasantly
pink and complete exasperated (because he’s really not that bad, Layal, c’mon),
pretending not to see their dopey smiles. He takes a bite of his own carrots to
be a good example.
Steph, however, waits until Tim and Layla are on
dish duty and she’s accepted one more cup of coffee in the living room, out of
range of little ears.
“You’ll take care of him,” and it isn’t a
question. “You’ll make sure no bad guys find out who he is to you. You will
protect him.” The or else is right there in the open.
Jay and Dick exchange another brief eye slide
and give Stephanie Brown their full attention. It only takes a breath, a
second, for the two of them to change. For the masks to come over them,
and for her to realize these two men are very, very dangerous people.
(Not that she gives a damn because they’re going to take care of Tim, or she’s
going to bide her time and pick the right moment to strike.)
“We will protect him,” Dick makes it a vow, his
voice low and gravelly, his blue eyes sharp in the light.
“Good. You might be Gotham’s good guys, but
there are plenty of ways to hurt you. None of which have to do with your
secret identities.”
“Take it easy, Sweets,” and the Jason there a
few minutes ago is a completely different man from the one sitting right across
from her. “When Tim needs us, we’ll be there. Ya can take that shit ta the bank
and cash it.”
Steph sips her coffee, eyes narrow on the very
serious expressions, on the promise in those eyes.
Oddly enough, it really does make her feel
better.
**
2
It isn’t as bad as it could have been.
Still, she feels sluggish, feels tired and
broken-down.
Batgirl heaves a long sigh, her head dropping
down on her upraised knees, soaking in the sounds of the city below.
She has done good things tonight, done good
works. She is satisfied.
Her comfort place is here, sitting on the awning
beside Stephanie Brown’s window, a place she can sit while Steph leans out and
talks to her.
Sometimes she is given wonderful smelling tea
and little biscuits or cookies. Sometimes the doctor scolds her for her
injuries and demands she come inside to be treated. Sometimes it is enough to
hear her voice and be grounded.
(And once, when Batgirl allowed, it was to come
inside and strip off the night, to be held in warm arms while she shakes and
weeps for the terrors she couldn’t stop.)
She is more comfortable here than she can remember
being anywhere else other than the Manor.
The window beside her slides gently open, and
instead of the face she is accustomed to seeing, Batgirl blinks behind the
whiteouts at the young man in a scrub top, smiling gently at her.
“Hi,” he keeps his voice low and soothing, a
stethoscope around his neck and the scrubs a familiar shade of purple, “I’m
Tim, Steph’s best friend.”
He must see her muscles tighten, her body ready
to leap.
“It’s okay. I’m a doctor, too. Steph is working
a hard case and asked me to stop by to make sure you’re okay,” he interrupts
her motions quickly, “I take care of Nightwing and the Red Hood when
they’re…having a bad night. I’m that Tim. I promise I’m not here
to hurt you. I’m a regular civilian with a penchant for hating it when cool
vigilantes bleed out on my fire escape. That? Is not okay. I know, I know, not
technically a fire escape, but I think I can add awnings to that description
and we’re still in the clear.”
Her head tilts at him just slightly.
“So, are you hurt?” His eyes move over her
clinically, assessing, “it’s been a hard night for N and Hood, but I’ve already
made sure they’re good. They’re resting right now back at my place, and you are
totally welcome to go see them. I ordered pizza and wings because Hood can’t
live without his habanero ones, right? And N just has to have one with
pineapple, which okay, I’m not really judging, but I kind of am? Just, who
does that? Pineapple is for fruity drink, not pizza. But anyway, first, I
want to make sure you’re okay, too. It’s important to me, you know? You do a
lot for this city, for us, so it’s okay to let me take care of you, I
promise.”
And she looks at those blue eyes, the
seriousness of his expression, the hand he slowly holds out, giving her the
option to do what she needs to do.
Her hand starts out, hesitates, hovering in the
air for a second, her whiteouts go back up to those sincere eyes, the man her
brothers talked about fondly.
“You take care of Gotham,” is low and full of
respect, admiration, “you take a beating for people you don’t even know.
It’s okay to let someone take care of you when you need it.”
It’s such an echo of Stephanie that her chest
warms with it, give her the last few inches to slide her gloved hand into his
palm, and let him hold on.
kiragecko 